Nuke Scientist Poem

A little girl....a small weeping child....was standing there
not speaking, her story was too horrible to bear
her skin was shriveled, burnt and torn
her eyes an agony had borne
her body lay in shambles, it hung like rags
tattered and torn
her hair was singed and burnt, her entire body sags under the weight
all of her kin, all she knew had suffered a terrible fate

The child could see, she was staring at me
in her frail hand she held an eye
this living apparatus had refused to die
the eye, this living thing, knew....it knew me
this eye, this living thing, wouldn't let me be
it could also see, it was looking at me
this eye, this living thing, left the hand and soared towards the skies

In flight, late at night it returned, huge, bigger than life, to roust my sleep,
it did, it did, this act, it touched me deep
in the mid of night it hovered over my bed,
it hung directly over my head
most frightening were the words it said
in a trembling woman's voice, seeming like a thousand winds,
it implored of my soul, seeking amends

The child you saw is mine,
it is mine, not thine
all that I would or couldst ever love
was given to me from the Lord above
why?? why? when you split the atom you knew
you knew what would happen, what they would do
all of this is because of you

I spoke not nothing of what I could say
not this, not this way
never never, had I wanted any of this,
not this way, not on any day
on a distant day The Warrior had come to my door
what did he want? a small favor he would implore
he merely needed some math
what formula you do hath
split the atom, what a weapon we can make
you'll do it for our sake

It is The Warrior, he has raided our very labs
he has taken our science, he has taken what we know
he has lain the fate of the world below
he took our precious ideas, he didn't ask
without asking, forced us to bend to his own task
he shaped and then lade bare
scenes so frightful the imagination wouldn't dare

To win his game, he didn't care
he had said
let the world's rivers run red
we can win this battle, this war, so there
we will beat them at their own game
if we don't do this thing they would do it first, it's all the same
there is a culprit, there is a beast, it is under The Warrior's name
when revenge and fear drove him insane
The Warrior, it is he
the one who deserves all of the agony, horror and shame

~ by Jack Pillow ~